Zuleika's Love
by Morning-Tide
Summary: Zuleika yearns for the love of a young slave, Joseph, but what happens when she finds her love spurned? A fic that explores Zuleika's attraction to Joseph, even despite being years older than him, and already married. Rated T for suggestive themes.


I saw the most beautiful slave the other day, strong of limb and fresh of face. Not like my husband, Potiphar, who shrivels with age before my eyes. He is past his prime—sagging skin, dimming eyes, and reduced libido in bed. How can you blame me for falling for this beautiful slave? Many slaves live on Potiphar's property, but none as gorgeous as Joseph. Oh, Joseph! I think about him day and night. It is his face I see when I close my eyes and imagine I'm making love to him, and not Potiphar, behind closed doors. When I lay awake as Potiphar snores, I caress my body, imagining it is the slave's hands that fondles me, and not my own hands. I sigh as I trail my fingers over the curve of my breast, still seeing my fine-looking Joseph's face. I yearn to clasp the strength of a fertile, strong man in the prime of his time. My body aches to feel him against me as we sleep together. So long has passed since I have experienced a soul-burning climax before sinking back into the clasp of strong arms, with my lover's fingers lightly tickling my spine.

Who can resist his soulful eyes and full, expressive lips? Not I. Who can appreciate his toned arms, legs free of varicose veins, and hands without unsightly liver spots? I can. My fingers ache to stroke his soft brown hair, to fondle the young tresses. Oh! To hold his supple, fit body to me, to know he is mine at last. I cry out, involuntary, as I imagine his hand moving to pleasure me, my heart racing with passion. My breathing quickens as I arch my back, throat exposed to kisses that aren't planted there, yet are. Another muffled cry as I collapse into a pleasured heap under the blankets. If only my dear Joseph lay next to me, and not the aging Potiphar.

* * *

Bless my niece, Asenath! She will never know the _true _reason I ask about Joseph. I love my niece, but she will not have _my_ Joseph.

"You spend a lot of time with him," I had observed one day, "are you close friends?"

Asenath had given me a shy smile, "Very close, aunt. I may even say we are in love."

_In love? _

I had worked my expression into that of a delighted aunt.

"Well, that is wonderful to hear," I had complimented, but inside, I seethed with jealousy, "I wish you and Joseph well."

"Thank you, aunt Zuleika."

_He will be my love, not yours, little niece.  
_

* * *

Ah! Tonight I am lucky, for I have found him alone, deeply immersed in his painting. I scrutinise the artwork from afar, and note it is nothing I have seen before. He has lurid yellow depictions of flowers I have never seen grow in Egypt. I remain quiet as I watch him put away his paintbrush and, with a sigh, lean his hand against the wall, staring at his work.

_How he paints with such grace, _I sigh inside, _with hands so beautiful. _

I cannot waste any more time than is necessary—I must ensnare his heart with my guile.

"Joseph." I call low.

He starts, turning around in alarm, "Huh?"

I reach for his shoulder, bringing one finger to my lips, "_Shhh._"

He presses his back against the wall, shifting away from me, uncomfortable.

"Why have you come here?" he asks, "is something wrong?"

"No," I say at once.

_I have to put him at ease, lower his defences. _

I saunter to the mural, jutting out a hip sensually as I gesture at the paintings.

"This isn't Egypt," I observe, "Is this your home?"

Joseph stays back, caution in his eyes, "Yes. Canaan."

"Please," I invite, "Tell me more about…Canaan."

The word Canaan feels strange on my tongue, my lips forming the word for the first time in my life. Joseph sighs again, full of hidden meanings and secrets. I shall coax out those secrets in time. I love him so much. I half-listen as he explains the flowers—sunflowers they are named—his mother planted. Yet, what started as deep pride in his work halts abruptly. He lingers over his words, his hand hovering over the image of eleven men hard at work in the fields.

"And these are…"

I help him, "your family? You miss them, don't you?"

Joseph's voice hardens, bitterness in every word, "My brothers. They _betrayed _me."

I have lowered his defences and found a way into his heart. He shall lie with me! He shall! I glide to him, touching his arm, sending a thrill of tingles through my fingers.

"Joseph," I croon, "we are your family now."

Joseph turns confused eyes on me. "Huh?"

I step closer to him, my fingers stretching to him, yearning to touch his soft skin. "We care for you here, we…I feel you are special."

I caress his arm, but he pulls away, stepping back. I will not allow it—I step forward, reaching to touch my beloved Joseph.

"What? No, why have you come here tonight?"

I stretch out an arm, cupping his face with one hand, "to be with you," I purr.

He slaps my hand away, bringing up his arms to bar his face from my yearning touch.

"No," he insists, walking away from me—_me,_ his beloved!—"This is not right."

I follow him, "Joseph, look at me."

"I—I will not betray my master." Joseph keeps walking.

I am livid. How dare he refuse my love! Does he not understand how deeply a woman can love a man? I will not give up so easy!

I clutch his shoulders to demand his attention, "I am talking to you!"

"No!" he almost shouts, starting to run away.

"Wait!" I snatch his garments in a vice grip, "I order you to stay!"

With a lunge, he pulls away sharply, ripping the garment from shoulder to chest, leaving me with a shredded piece of linen in my fists. He has dared to refuse my love! My desire!

Joseph turns around, half his chest now bare, thanks to the ripped garment. Before, I would have longed to trace the contours of his perfect chest, but no more! I will teach him what it means to refuse a woman's genuine love!

"No…" he breathes, staring down at the rip in his garment, before he sprints away into the darkness of the palace.

"_Everything you are you owe to ME!_" I shriek at his retreating back.

I will show him! I will make him pay, even with his life! I work myself into hysteria until my kohl streaks my cheeks. Throwing my head back, I scream, collapsing to my knees. Another scream, and guards arrive at my side.

"What has happened?!" one asks, pulling me to my feet.

I sob and shriek like one of the wretched professional mourners hired at noblepersons' funerals.

"Calm down, dear lady," the second guard cajoles, "now tell us what has happened."

"He…he…" I hiccup, hyperventilating, "he tried to…Joseph _tried to force himself on me!"_

I collapse in a storm of hysterics as the guards guide me to my bedchambers, talking soothing platitudes all the way. But I am not listening to their compassionate words of sympathy.

_I have my revenge, _I congratulate myself, _now Joseph will know what it means to refuse my love for him. He will pay. _


End file.
